


Sailing on the seas of infinity

by psychomachia



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Eldritch Abominations in Love (Cthulhu Mythos), Fairy Tale Retellings, Multi, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: In a world with Elder Gods, a happy ending takes a different form.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28
Collections: Crossworks 2020





	Sailing on the seas of infinity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitsunerei88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/gifts).



### I. The Beauty Who Dreams in the Deep

No one talked about the princess.

“Don't be silly,” his mother said, as she smoothed his sheets, kissed his brow. “It's just a dream.”

The prince drowned that night, his lungs filling with water as she kissed him.

“Wake me.” Her mouth was cool against his, and he fancied he could feel the ocean slipping deeper into him, running though his veins. One touch against his skin and he might

“Yes,” he said. “I will.”

“I will wait for you,” she said. “Time means nothing to me.”

His bed, when he woke, smelled of fish and brine.

“Perhaps he sleepwalks,” the king said doubtfully.

“Yes, that must be it,” the queen replied, though neither mentioned that indeed, they were far from any port, and that their son's door had been locked the entire night.

The maid who changed the sheets was paid handsomely, too, to not mention the black stains on the sheets that no matter how hard they were scrubbed, remained dark and odorous upon the linen.

Thus, when she died five days later, screaming and thrashing in her sleep, her family was perfectly unaware of anything that might have caused it. The purse of gold given to them allayed their grief sufficiently.

And so the prince grew, and if he had more dreams, they vanished by morning, leaving nothing more than the faint trace of salt in the air, as if whatever had visited him melted away in the light. His memories were equally ephemeral, though there was one thought that always remained.

_Wake me_

But who could believe such tales?

### II. Those Who Lose Their Way in the Woods

They walked for some time, the boy and girl, hungry and cold in the dark. There were no pebbles to mark their path, no crumbs of bread, nothing but the wind blowing at their back and the faint sound of wings if they listened hard enough.

The stars were dim and cloudy, the night sky veiled to those who would seek it out for guidance, except for one particularly dull red one that pulsed, beating and bloody.

“We can't go back, can we?”

The girl clutched her brother's hand tighter. “They don't hate us,” she said quietly. “They're just hungry and they can't feed us.”

“I am hungry too,” he said. “I want to eat.”

She said nothing, but she could hear the own rumbling of her stomach and knew that she might be desperate enough soon to eat the leaves off the ground if it might stave off the hunger that gnawed at her.

 _Children_.

The voice whispered into her mind, echoed around the emptiness of her body, and lodged itself into her bones, her blood, and would not leave.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered to her brother.

“Yes,” he said.

It was dark all around them, and yet it seemed they saw a light ahead of them, an orange flickering that promised warmth, if nothing else.

“Perhaps we will find shelter,” she said. “A kindly older woman to look after us.”

“Maybe she'll feed us.”

They picked up their pace, let their hollow stomachs be filled with hope. It would not last, but for the moment, they were nourished.

As they grew closer to the light, they could hear the sounds of voices, chanting out words they did not understand. There were hooves stamping too.

“Horses?” the girl said. “They can help take us back home.”

They reached a dark thicket of underbrush, and with one final glance between the two of them, they pushed through it, ignoring the branches that caught at their hair, their clothes.

And they were out of the tight, twisty forest into a clearing.

Around them, strange creatures that were darker than the night were lain bare to their terrified eyes. They could have been trees, except that they moved on hooves, extending not branches, but fluid tendrils that writhed and dripped a green slime from their appendages.

It was a nightmare, except it was not and the children had nowhere to run.

“Children,” the voice said again, but this time it came from in front of them, not in their mind, and they found themselves forced to look to the sky.

A cloud, far larger than the wisps they had seen, blotted out the sky. It was a contorting mass with tendrils like the ones below, and it reached for the children, who clung to each other in terror.

“You will be fed.”

### III. The Foam Turns To Air, and Nothing Remains

The prince paid little attention to the crew around him. The ship was decrepit, the captain a drunken sot, and the voyage was one of necessity rather than any personal desire.

It was an exile, but it was one he intended to come back from, fully triumphant and covered with glory. He scratched at the golden collar wrapped around his neck, and took a deep breath. Soon, he thought.

“You should turn in, my lord,” the captain said, eyeing him before taking a swig from his flask. “It's going to be a rough night and we can't have any civilians on deck.”

“Soon,” the prince said dismissively, for the quarters below were cramped and smelled too much of the effluvia of the uncouth sailors he was forced to stay with.

“Suit yourself,” the captain said. “If something happens to you, it's not on our heads.”

Then the storm broke with a crash of thunder and a driving rain.

The captain's words rang in his head through the never-ending darkness in his head and the pounding that beat like a drum.

He coughed awake, water spewing from his lungs, to find himself on a beach of coarse black sand. In the distance, a tall green monolith rose in the distance.

“You are awake.”

A young man in a gray cloak came into view, bending over him. He was very pale, the sort that looked as if he never got much light and his head was perfectly smooth. A scholar or a priest, the prince thought.

“Did you save me?” the prince asked. “I am very grateful.” He reached up to his neck and found the collar gone, laying tarnished at his side.

The man nodded, and reached out a hand to wipe down the prince's brow. The fingers were damp, and there was an odd texture to them, a rubberiness that caused the prince to flinch ever so slightly.

“You may speak,” the prince said. “I shall not take offense to anything my savior might have to say.”

The man shook his head.

A vow of silence? Then his conjecture was confirmed. It would work in his favor, since the expected reward would surely be far less than a merchant or mercenary might demand. “Well, I shall reward you,” the prince said. “If you cannot speak, then let me write down your payment upon the sand and when I return from my kingdom, you will be given what you ask for.”

A finger lifted up and pointed unerringly at the prince. The man's unblinking eyes bored into him.

It took him a moment to grasp what the man was requesting. “Me?” the prince said, amused. “I'm afraid that's not a possibility. I am engaged to someone else. And besides--”

The glance did not waver, even as the man removed the cloak.

And then the prince's amusement turned to fear, for what lay beneath it was a body of scales and gills, something caught between man and sea creature.

“Get away from me,” he said. “I will not...”

But the arms that picked up his hurt, exhausted body and cradled them were far stronger than any protest he might be able to muster.

And really, was there any point?

When upon hitting the cool water, the gills at his throat opened, knowing they were coming home.

### IV. The White Silence

It was chilling in the courtyard.

She expected the guards to remain, but they only exchanged a quiet look between the two of them, before leaving her there, shaking and cold, but unchained.

Not that she could run far. Her feet, burned by the shoes that had been forced on her feet, were still blistered and raw. The ice was actually a comfort.

“You stopped,” the queen said. “I wouldn't have.”

The princess turned to her, a vision of white and wind that seemed to flutter and fade into the blizzard raging around her. Her smile was sweet, though, a comforting thing.

The queen's teeth itched at the sight of it. How easy it would have been if the girl was as cold as her name? But no, this one was a forgiving girl, beloved by all, a tender creature that took pity upon even those that wronged her and asked only for mercy.

Such a pretty lie.

“There was no need to continue,” the princess said. “Burning you to ashes would have been a waste.”

The queen shivered, but kept her head held high. “I won't swear fealty to you,” she said. “No matter what you do, you will never be my queen.”

The princess's laugh was a fond, knowing thing. “I don't wish to be your queen.” She walked forehead, her veil dropping to the ground before it was whisked away by a gust of wind. Her hair, dark as the night, swirled free of its confines.

Her hand reached up, touched the queen's cheek. Even in this chill, it was colder than the winter night, but it caressed the queen's face gently.

“Then what do you want?” the queen demanded, trembling at the touch. “You have a prince. You have my king. All of my plans lie in ruins because of you and yet you will not grant me my death. Do you wish to torture me the rest of my life?”

It would be fitting, the queen thought. Fair punishment.

“My father was so lonely,” the princess said thoughtfully. “So many years spent waiting for a child to love him. But he was destined to be betrayed time and time again.”

“I did not betray the king,” the queen snapped, slapping the princess's hand away. “I loved him.” In as much as I was able to, she thought, for the king was as kind as his daughter with far less spine.

The wind grew fiercer, circling around the princess, who remained at its eye. Snow stabbed at the queen, flurries that felt like they flayed her open to the bone, left her raw and exposed to this strange creature of compassion and cruelty.

“My real father,” the princess murmured in a voice that carried over the howling winds. “He never found companionship. Though I believe he did find peace when I finally granted him his death.”

“Your--” and the queen could not say more, for her tongue seemed frozen in her mouth.

“Someone like my prince could never survive,” the princess said. “In the icy wastes, his tender heart would freeze before the day was out.”

The queen tried to speak, tried to move, but she was frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare at the white figure, more a storm than a girl.

“But someone like you,” she continued. “Someone cold and pitiless, who would murder a girl for the crime of being more beautiful than her.”

The princess put both of her hands around the queen's face, let her crimson eyes peer into the queen's own.

She smiled, and the smile was as kind as it was chilling. “You will thrive in my lands.”

Her lips were red as blood when she kissed the queen, and when she pulled away, the queen felt as if her skin was a thing of ice now, a cold that could never be chased away.

“I will not expect a child,” the princess said, laughing softly. “But I don't want to be alone.”

With a burst of wind and snow, they disappeared into the winter night.

### V. The Chiming of the Clock

Her slippers shone as bright as the moon, as golden as the mask she wore fixed to her face. Her dress glimmered too, with starlight and sparkles, and she danced through the room as light as the air.

“Who are you?” the count asked. “Surely, a maiden as fair as you must be of noble birth. Tell me, so that I may pay a visit upon your father and ask his permission to court you.”

But the lady said nothing, smiled, and gave the count a flower from her crown.

All around her, others stared in envy, in lust, and hands dropped to their sides, to clutch at knives to rip her apart. They could not say why they felt this desire, only that it raged inside them to destroy what they saw before them.

“Who are you?” the baron asked. “I know all pretty girls in my lands and you far outshine them. Let me take you back to my manor and I shall show you all luxuries and pleasures.”

But the lady said nothing, smiled, and gave the baron a flower from her crown.

The musicians were strangely frenzied tonight. Rather than the traditional waltzes and minuets that the court was used to, they played curious melodies that seized the listeners' ears, made them whirl breathless upon the floor, unable to stop even as their legs grew weary and threatened to collapse beneath them.

“Who are you?” the prince asked. “I would marry you at once, for you have bewitched me.”

But the lady said nothing, smiled, and gave the prince the golden ring from her finger.

He examined it and puzzled upon the curious symbol carved upon it as she danced away, to be courted by another hapless suitor, though all had given up hope, upon seeing the prince's interest. They were subjects of his father, had heard tales of their ancestors and the blood that ran through their veins, and knew that once they had set their mind to it, nothing could resist them.

Still, the party went on, dancers never ceasing in their wild merriment. The music grew louder, a cacophony of flutes and drums and a mad violin that shrieked its high-pitched song.

And the golden lady moved through it all, a sun around who the planets kept their orbit, fixed in a pattern they were unable to escape from.

Above this noise and bustle, though, a chime rang out. Then another. As they did, the musicians quieted, their wild playing dwindling to a few soft notes.

The dancers, freed from their paroxysmal movement, panted raggedly. Here and there, drops of blood spilled to the floor, from shoes that had cut their wearer's feet open, from glasses dropped to the floor, left to crack in shards.

By the twelfth chime, all was silent.

The woman in gold turned to leave.

“Wait!” the prince called out, reaching desperately to grasp her arm. “You cannot leave.”

The golden lady said nothing.

“Not until you remove your mask,” he continued and around the room, a ripple of quiet laughter rang out.

The lords and ladies of the court reached up, removing their masks. All around, pale, exhausted faces were revealed.

The prince himself took off his mask as well. He was a handsome boy, as his father and grandfather before him, and his eyes looked eagerly upon the present he wished to unwrap. As with all his toys, he took the most pleasure in seeing what great gift he obtained before casting it aside.

“Your mask, my lady,” he said, reaching out his hand.

“I wear no mask,” she replied.

### VI. The Beauty Who Wakes, And What May Come Hereafter

The captain eyed the prince suspiciously.

“I've had fancy boys like you,” he said. “The last one fell off the ship. Never saw him again.”

The prince only laughed. “I promise you,” he said. “I won't go alone.”

The captain seemed to doubt that, but gold can quiet any misgivings far better than smooth words, and soon they embarked upon their voyage.

The seas were smooth the entire way there, as if the voyage itself was blessed by the gods of the ocean. The crew toasted each other, for this prince was for more amiable than the last one. He was a quiet sort, who did what he was told, kept out of the way, and wrote in a journal he kept tucked next to him.

“He's not really much of a king,” one of the sailors said. “Can't see that sort ruling over anyone.”

That was a point in his favor.

On the 36th day, the prince closed his journal and left it casually on his bunk.

He walked onto deck, coming up to the captain's shoulder.

“We're here,” he said.

The captain looked around. As the ship had gone towards the destination the prince had contracted for, they had long since sailed past ports and fellow ships.

They were now in deep waters, the ocean murky and dark. The sky constantly threatened storms, though no squalls had materialized.

“My lord?” the captain asked. “There's nothing here.”

But the prince's eyes were fixed upon the still water and he spoke not to any of the men around him, but to the depths, to someone... or something only he could see.

“Wake up,” he said.

And it did.


End file.
